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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379417">Dare to Hope</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/soprano_buddy15/pseuds/soprano_buddy15'>soprano_buddy15</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Peace After Battle [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Last Kingdom, The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Family, I cried while writing this, Post Season 4, Sihtric needs more backstory on the show, Sihtric's Mother - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:28:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,248</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379417</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/soprano_buddy15/pseuds/soprano_buddy15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>5 years after the Siege of Winchester, Sihtric encounters some people that have an alarming familiarity.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ealhswith/Sihtric (The Last Kingdom)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Peace After Battle [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1736485</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dare to Hope</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Constructive comments are always welcome! Just don’t be rude, because nobody wants that.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Lord, I’m begging ye, we cannot stay out in this storm.” Finan called to Uhtred. Sihtric pulled his black furs tighter about his shoulders. The wind was blowing snow around them, and he could hardly see his horses ears, let alone the back of Uhtred. </p><p>“I know Finan!” Sihtric heard his lord shout back. “There is a small village just ahead - we will stop there.” Squinting against the harsh snow, Sihtric could just make out the walls, the braziers on the ramparts a small glimmer of light against the dark. </p><p>The horses seemed to know that they would soon be out of the brutal wind and tucked warmly away into a stable, as they promptly picked up their pace. Sihtric rubbed his geldings neck, promising him warm oats and a good rubdown. </p><p>The wind was not as powerful once they made it within the village, but the air was still bitingly cold. Sihtric dismounted stiffly, and the few villagers that ventured outside yet watched them warily. </p><p>They were somewhere in East Anglia, Sihtric knew that for certain. King Edward had asked them to survey the marshy country, now five years after the Danes and the late Aethelred had plundered it. Looking around as he rubbed his gelding down, Sihtric noticed that the village seemed well off. The walls were intact, and he could not recall seeing the remnants of burned houses outside of the village. “I suppose,” he called to Finan over the wind. “That this village got lucky.” He did not have to elaborate on what he meant.</p><p>“That it did,” Finan agreed, giving his mare a quick pat and pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Sihtric followed him out of the stable and they were buffeting by the wind again. “They are so close to the Northumbrian border that it is amazing they were left untouched.”</p><p>They walked into the alehouse and joined Uhtred and Osferth sitting at the table. There were a a surprising amount of people packed into the hall. Sihtric felt the warmth wash over him as he sat down, and guessed that this was probably the warmest place to be in the village. He shrugged out of his cloak and grabbed the ale that Uhtred had ordered for him.</p><p>The alehouse was loud as people drank and talked, but there were pockets of quiet where parents were trying to settle their young children down. Sihtric noticed a larger family sitting in the corner, grandparents holding the smallest children while the older ones were getting tucked under furs by their parents. </p><p>“Do you know where we are, Lord?” Osferth asked quietly. The thegn of the village had not told them where they were, but still welcomed them graciously into his hall. </p><p>“Not in the slightest. All of the villages in East Anglia look the same to me.” Uhtred joked and took a long drink of his ale. </p><p>They sat in the hall as the sky became dark, and soon enough they finished their last cup. The hall was quite quiet now as more and more people found a space to rest. “Shall we go, Finan?” Sihtric asked his friend. They had been given a room to share and Finan was lazily blinking, his head resting on his hand. Yawning, Finan nodded and they stood up. Uhtred and Osferth had already retired, and so they left their table empty. </p><p>“Does this village feel familiar to you?” Sihtric asked as they made their way up the stairs. His mind kept going back to the large family in the corner of the hall. There was nothing remarkable about them, but Sihtric had recognized something in them. </p><p>“God no,” Finan groaned as he flopped on his bed. “This bed is nowhere near as comfortable as mine in Coccham.”</p><p>Sihtric huffed, but removed his belt and boots and climbed under the furs on his bed. They were thin, and the hall was not built well, and so he pulled his cloak over the furs to keep out the whistling drafts that were coming in between the wood. Finan was snoring already, but Sihtric could not keep that family out of his mind. Burrowing deeper into the furs, he closed his eyes and instead thought about his family in Coccham, eager to return to his wife and children, before softy falling asleep. </p><p>****</p><p>When Sihtric woke the next morning, he could see his breath, crystallizing in the icy air. The wind had stopped, and cracks of light shone through into the small room. Finan was still snoring, but Sihtric could hear the bustle of activity in the hall downstairs. He groaned, but pushed the furs off of him and quickly dressed, washing his face with the bucket of water left in the corner of the room. “Finan,” he said, bundling a fur up and tossing it at the Irishman. “It’s time to go.”</p><p>Sihtric left as Finan mumbled in protest, but rolled over and sat up. Heading down the stairs, he met with Uhtred and Osferth as they were eating their morning meal. There were still many people in the hall, and a few looked at him warily as he walked by. He could understand their apprehension. Many of them probably had not realized that they were there, as the hall was so full. He knew that he stood out, kohl lined eyes, the bright silver beads shining in his dark hair. It was a impulsive choice to shave the side of his head, he knew that, but he let his wife do what she wanted when she determined that it was time for his hair to be cut. </p><p>“What is it like out there?” He asked Uhtred and Osferth as he sat down. Osferth passed him a bowl of stew.</p><p>“We might be here for a few days,” Uhtred said, grimacing. “It snowed quite heavily.”</p><p>Sihtric frowned in annoyance. They were only supposed to be gone for a week, but this was quickly turning into two. He was glad that his son was older now, to help Ealhswith with the chores around the house. She was pregnant again, and their daughter was still quite young. “Has anyone checked on the horses?” He asked as he scraped out his bowl. Uhtred shook his head, eyes on Finan as he stumbled down the steps. </p><p>He was obviously feeling the effects of the ale last night, and grimaced as he sat down with a thud. Sihtric rolled his eyes at his best friend, but clapped him on the back as he stood up. “I’ll go check on them,” he said, leaving Finan to be poked fun at by Uhtred and Osferth.</p><p>The snow had piled up, and Sihtric did not think he had ever seen so much at one time. It covered his boot, and he trudged through the heavy snow. He could see where other people had braved the snow and made small channels in the snow. It was beautiful, he admitted to himself, with the bright warm sun and crystal clear sky. </p><p>Finally making it to the stable, the horses nickered happily when they saw him. He made sure that the horses were fed and warm, taking his time to calm them and talk to them. </p><p>“Is there somebody to help Wynflaed?” Sihtric looked up at the woman’s voice. It was one of the women from the corner of the hall last night, their dark hair striking against the white snow. The older couple were helping each other through the snow, and the other two adults had their hands full with the young children. Sihtric glanced back at the young girl. She was somewhere between seven and eight, but quite small for her age. She was struggling to walk through the deep snow, trying to carry some baskets as well. It was obviously her mother who was calling back for her, but there was no one with them to help. </p><p>“I can help” Sihtric said suddenly, walking out of the stable. The young girl, Wynflaed, he assumed, squeaked in surprise at him.</p><p>The mother, and the man whom Sihtric assumed was the father, froze. Sihtric stopped walking, putting his hands up. “At least allow me to carry the baskets for her.”</p><p>The father narrowed his eyes at him, and Sihtric was struck with a familiarity so strong, but struggled to place where he knew this face before. Tentatively, the man nodded.</p><p>Sihtric knelt beside the small girl, her dark brown eyes wide. “I am called Sihtric,” he said to her. She slowly placed one of the baskets down in front of him. “My name is Wynflaed,” she said back. She was a confident young girl, and held her head high as she spoke to him, but Sihtric could see her tremble slightly.</p><p>“That is a beautiful name,” he said to her. “I imagine that your toes are getting cold?” He smiled as she nodded seriously. Turning around, he got as low as he could and she clambered onto his back. Hoisting her up over his hips, she held onto his shoulders and he picked up her baskets. </p><p>He made his way over to the rest of the family, and he could tell they were apprehensive, but thankful nonetheless. “Please,” he said. “Lead the way.”</p><p>It would have taken the family much too long to reach their home if they had continued to wait for Wynflaed. The outside of their house was small and humble, but Sihtric could tell that they took great care in their house. </p><p>“This is it,” the father said, opening the door for the older couple. Sihtric knelt back down and let Wynflaed slide off of his back. She beamed up at him as he handed her a basket to carry into the house. </p><p>“Would you like to come inside for a moment?” The mother asked hesitantly. She was still holding her youngest child, wrapped in a fur. “We can warm up some ale for you.”</p><p>Sihtric hesitated, but curiosity about this family overruled him and he nodded. They were going to be here for a few days anyway, so he followed Wynflaed through the door. </p><p>It was simple, but from what he could tell, every person had their place. The older couple were sitting at the large table, and were actually much older than Sihtric had originally thought. </p><p>“I am Mathilde,” said the woman who invited him in. “This is my husband Eadwold. Wynflaed is our oldest.”</p><p>The fire that was started was quickly warming up the room, so Sihtric shrugged off his cloak and removed his weapons belt, placing it at the door out of respect. Ealhswith hated him wearing it when he was at home. “I am Sihtric,” he said. “I am passing through with my lord.”</p><p>Eadwold had set down his young son and was staring at him intently. “Your face is familiar to me,” he muttered, and grabbed hold of his crucifix. </p><p>A bolt of surprise shot through Sihtric. “I feel that too,” he whispered. They both sat down at the table, Eadwold still playing with his crucifix. </p><p>“You are a Dane?” Wynflaed asked, climbing onto the chair beside him. She studied his meticulously braided hair and gingerly touched the rings on his arms. </p><p>“I am,” he said. He felt the others stiffen in the room. “But I serve a Lord who serves King Edward of Wessex.”</p><p>Eadwold leaned forward, examining Sihtric. “Where did you grow up, Sihtric?" He asked, but Sihtric hardly heard him as he stared at the crucifix hanging from Eadwold’s neck. Slowly, he lifted his hand to hold it, the size and shape familiar. “What are you-“ Eadwold exclaimed.</p><p>“Where did you get this?” Sihtric cut him off. “Where?” He asked when Eadwold did not reply.</p><p>Eadwold ripped it out of Sihtric’s hands. “Why do you care?” He scoffed. “You are a pagan, a heathen.”</p><p>A thought went through Sihtric’s mind, and somehow, he knew it to be true. Slowly, he reached into his tunic and pulled out his mother’s crucifix that he wore. Pulling it over his head, he placed it on the table in front of them. </p><p>Eadwold’s eyes went wide as he picked it up. “Where did you get this?” He now asked Sihtric. It was the twin of his own crucifix. </p><p>Sihtric looked closely at the older couple in the room. There, in the nose of the woman, and the eyes of the man. “Are you Brictled and Bertwald?” He asked them, and they nodded slowly. </p><p>“Who are you?” Mathilde asked. She was glancing back and forth between her husband and in-laws.</p><p>Brictled leaned forward and cupped her hand around Sihtric’s face, and he closed his eyes at the touch. “You are Ealfled’s boy,” she said softly, tears brimming in her eyes. </p><p>Sihtric heard Mathilde gasp behind him. “No,” Eadwold muttered. “Ealfled is dead. She was taken during a Danish raid.” Eadwold stood up abruptly and Sihtric was startled away from Brictled’s hand. Eadwold was furiously pacing back and forth. “He must have found it somehow. He is a Dane!” Eadwold emphasized. “My sister would never marry a Dane.”</p><p>“And she did not,” Sihtric stood up as well, meeting his uncle eye to eye. “She was a slave under Kjartan the Cruel,” he spat, “who whelped me on her. I was raised as the bastard of the Lord of Dunholm.”</p><p>“Ealfled would never have raised a Dane,” Eadwold said, his voice dangerously soft. He glanced at the Hammer of Thor resting on Sihtric’s chest. “Never. Especially a child of Kjartan.”</p><p>Sihtric scoffed and took a step back, shaking his head in disbelief. “This is why I never came to you,” he admitted. “I have known that out there, somewhere, my mother's family was alive. I have been encouraged by my friends and family to seek you out, but you only see what you wish to see.”</p><p>Eadwold surged forward, but Mathilde held her husband back. “Eadwold, no.” She said firmly. “Let him explain himself.” He began to protest, but she cut him off. “He was <em>wearing</em> your sister’s crucifix, Eadwold. Why would a Dane wear it?” She gave him a fierce look, and Sihtric was reminded of his own wife. </p><p>“Please.”</p><p>Sihtric turned at the raspy voice. It was Bertwald. “Please tell us of our girl.”</p><p>He sat down at the table again, and picked up his mother’s crucifix, pulling git over his head and tucking it back in his tunic. The memories of his life at Dunholm were coming back to him, after working so hard to forget about that time in his life. “What would you like to know?”</p><p>Mathilde sat down and pulled Wynflaed onto her lap. Her other two children were asleep in the room next to the kitchen. “I know that Eadwold wants to know how what happened after she was taken, and how you know us.”</p><p>Sihtric sat back. He was hesitant to speak, but could tell his grandparents were desperate for information about their daughter. “Kjartan took her during the raid,” he began. “He desired her.” </p><p>Tears were running down Brictled’s face, but she was silent as he continued. “One of the older slave tried to prevent her from conceiving, but could not get her the herbs in time. I was born just after she reached her fifteenth winter. I grew up a slave for Kjartan, and he whored her out whenever he could.” He knew that he could choose his words with more care, but he also wanted the truth of the matter to be apparent. </p><p>“She would tell me stories of you,” he said quietly, and looked at Eadwold. “You were very young, as there had been three babes between my mothers birth and yours. They did not survive very long.” Eadwold’s eyes were big, and Sihtric could recognize his mother in them. “You used to run and slide around in the mud, and my mother hated it as she had to launder the clothes.” Sihtric grinned softly. “I used to do the same thing.”</p><p>A small laugh escpaed from Eadwold, and Sihtric knew that he was hardly daring to believe. “Where is Ealfled now?” He asked. “We know that Kjartan is dead.”</p><p>The grin slid from Sihtric’s face, and the mood of the room turned somber. “Dead,” he said simply. “Has been for nearly thirty years.”</p><p>Mathilde held her husbands hand, but Sihtric could tell that they had believed her dead for much longer than that. “How?” Bertwald asked.</p><p>“Kjartan had gone into one of his rages,” Sihtric explained, remembering the day. He had been bringing his father a jug of ale, and had slipped and spilled it. “Kjartan lashed out at me with his knife. Gave me this,” he gestured to the long scar above his right eyebrow. “I was nine.”</p><p>“My mother found out, and on one of her journeys to collect herbs, she picked some nightshade. She poisoned him, but it was not enough to kill him.” He remembered Kjartan coming into their small room in the middle of the night, his mother screaming as he pulled her up from her wooden pallet by her hair. “He prided himself on his pack of hounds, and set them upon her.”</p><p>Brictled let out a shuddering wail, and Sihtric remembered standing in shock in the courtyard, Tekil’s hands keeping him from running to his mother and killing himself in the process. He had sworn that day to the gods that he would kill Kjartan, in whatever way possible.</p><p>“You said you no longer serve a Dane, though?” Eadwold asked. “Whom do you serve?” </p><p>“Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg,” he said, and the gasps that resounded around the table made him proud. “He could have killed me all those years ago, but instead chose to spare me. I swore my sword to him in this life and the into the next.”</p><p>They continued asking him questions, about his mother, and how he came to be in Uhtred’s service. </p><p>“Sihtric.” Eadwold seemed uncomfortable. “Do you wish to be free?”</p><p>Sihtric stared at him blankly. “What do you mean?” He asked, confused. </p><p>“We do not have much, but we can gather our valuables-"</p><p>“I am not still a slave, if that is what you are asking,” he said quickly, laughing. “I willingly choose to be with Lord Uhtred. He gave me my freedom. I will follow him, always, in gratitude.”</p><p>Eadwold flushed, and Sihtric quickly spoke up. “I am grateful to you that you thought of it,” he said, and smiled. </p><p>Brictled reached across the table and grabbed Sihtric’s hand. “Sihtric, have you found happiness?”</p><p>Sihtric felt heart warm as he thought about his beautiful wife and their children. “Over and over again,” he said. “I married a Saxon woman, and she has given me two children, another on the way.”</p><p>“You are married?” Brictled smiled through her tears. “And have children?”</p><p>“Indeed. I met my wife Ealhswith in Winchester. My son Sihtric is nearly fifteen, and my daughter is Wynflaed’s age.” He paused a moment, and smiled wistfully. “We named her Ealfled.”</p><p>Brictled stood up abruptly and walked to the rest in the corner, rummaging around in it. After a moment, she came to stand in front of Sihtric, something in her hands. “Here, my boy,” she said, and placed something in his hand. He held it up, and it was another crucifix, a touch more ornate than the one Sihtric had, but still simple and beautiful. “My husband had bought it for your mother,” Brictled began. “It was for her marriage. She was to be engaged.” She closed Sihtric’s hands over it. “Give it to your daughter.”</p><p>At this, Sihtric felt his eyes begin to water. He had been trying his best not to cry, but the love he felt from this family that he never knew was overwhelming. He had always hoped that there would be people for him, but he had happily resigned himself to the fact that his family was with Ealhswith, or Uhtred, Finan, and Osferth. This was so much more. He held the crucifix tightly in his hand, close to his chest. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”</p><p>Mathilde placed a hand on Sihtric’s shoulder. “You and your family are welcome here at any time,” she said. “Always.”</p><p>“Sihtric! SIHTRIC!”</p><p> He jerked his head around at the sound of his name. It was coming from outside, and Sihtric suddenly realized that he had been in this house much longer than he originally thought. “They are looking for me,” he reassured his family. Standing up, he went to the door.</p><p>Looking outside, he shaded his eyes against the glare of the sun against the snow. There, in the middle of the road, was Finan, screaming his name at the top of his lungs and spinning in a circle. “Finan, you are disturbing the dead.” Sihtric called out to him. </p><p>“Oh, finally!” Finan spun around and threw his hands to the heavens in relief. “You’re a right shite, Sihtric, running off like that.” He threw his hands around Sihtric and hugged him tight. “You had us worried when you did not come back.”</p><p>Sihtric laughed and returned Finan’s hug. “I have something to show you,” he said, stepping back. Wynflaed was standing at the door, curiosity clear on her face. Eadwold was standing behind her, albeit more confused. Sihtric gestured for Eadwold to come out, and he carefully stepped around his daughter. “This is my mother’s brother,” he said to Finan excitedly. </p><p>Finan looked at Eadwold, and then back at Sihtric. “This-this is your family?” He whispered, searching Sihtric’s eyes. At his nod, Finan broke into a grin and yelled just as loudly as he was before. </p><p>“Finan, you’ll wake the dead,” Sihtric heard his lord call out, and they both turned and watched Uhtred and Osferth trudge through the snow to them.</p><p>“Aye, enough of that. The dead will be fine.” Finan grumbled, but he was still smiling. </p><p>“Lord,” Sihtric said to Uhtred, gesturing to Eadwold. “This is my uncle, Eadwold.” Uhtred gave Sihtric a sharp glance, but turned to Eadwold anyway. </p><p>“Lord, we have heard of your greatness.” Eadwold gave Uhtred a short bow.</p><p>“You are his blood uncle?”</p><p>Eadwold gave a short nod. “His mother is- was my sister.”</p><p>Uhtred studied Eadwold, and Sihtric knew that he was deciding on the man’s character. “Your sister gave the world a good man,” he finally said. “I am honoured to know Sihtric.” Uhtred smiled warmly and clasped Eadwold’s arm. “I am happy that he found you.”</p><p>Wynflaed came up behind her father, and reached out to tug at Sihtric’s leather cuirass. “Mother says you are our family,” she said as he knelt down to her. “My cousin.” </p><p>“I am your cousin,” he laughed. “I have never had a cousin before. You must teach me what it is like.” She reached out and touched his hair beads, admiring them. “These are really pretty,” she said. </p><p>“Thank you,” he said. “My wife gave them to me.” He reached into his money pouch and pulled out a few shillings, placing them into her hand. He tugged her dark brown locks gently. “I’m sure that this could buy you a few for your own hair.” Her grin had never been bigger.</p><p>Wynflaed ran back to show her mother the shillings, bouncing around in excitement. Sihtric’s grandparents had come to the door to see the commotion, and stood in wonder at the great lord talking and laughing with Sihtric. </p><p>He imagined it would be quite a shock, to suddenly have a grandchild that served such a reputable lord. Even throughout his travels from town to town, the tales that were told of Uhtred’s greatness were often exaggerated and details were missed. </p><p>But, Sihtric realized, this was real. He was really standing with his best friends in front of his family. A pang went through him as he remembered feeling that he would never know them, that he would live and die with his lord, and his wife. A part of him that he had buried beneath years of pain and and never expected to emerge again was here, and very real.</p><p>He had never dared to hope that there was a family out there for him. The stories his mother had told him about her family seemed so much further than anything he could reach, and so he had resigned himself to the fact that he would have to make his own family. </p><p>
  <em>And he did.</em>
</p><p>He knew the men around him loved him just as much as he loved them, that he would die for them without a second thought. He knew that his wife worried every time he went away, that his children would come and run to him when he returned. He had built his own family, loved them on his own, and had survived on his own. Yet he could not help but feel relieved that there was a family for him that was already there for him. Although it had been a rocky start, the love that surrounded him was so honest and real, and had somehow already been there. </p><p>Heart full, he excitedly helped usher his best friends into his families home, talking with them, laughing at the many questions Wynflaed was directing at Finan, who was struggling to fit one word in. And he smiled, clutched at the tarnished silver crucifix around his neck, and figured that somewhere, in Heaven or Valhalla, his mother was smiling with them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone! So I don’t know much about Sihtric’s full history, as I have only read up to book three. I know a little bit, but there are probably some inconsistencies in the book canon. However, I really wanted to explore what it would be like for Sihtric to his mother’s family. The ages might be a little screwy, but whatever, it’s my work, I can do what I want.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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